Mistborn #01 The Final Empire

they are around. Copper or no copper.”
    “I wouldn’t rely on something like that to get your loyalty,” Kelsier said.
    “So I’ve heard,” Clubs said as the boy poured him a cup of wine. “Had to be sure, though. Had to think about things without that Breeze around.” He scowled, though Vin had trouble determining why, then took the cup and downed half of it in one gulp.
    “Good wine,” he said with a grunt. Then he looked over at Kelsier. “So, the Pits really did drive you insane, eh?”
    “Completely,” Kelsier said with a straight face.
    Clubs smiled, though on his face the expression had a decidedly twisted look. “You mean to go through with this, then? This so-called job of yours?”
    Kelsier nodded solemnly.
    Clubs downed the rest of his wine. “You’ve got yourself a Smoker then. Not for the money, though. If you’re really serious about toppling this government, then I’m in.”
    Kelsier smiled.
    “And don’t smile at me,” Clubs snapped. “I hate that.”
    “I wouldn’t dare.”
    “Well,” Dockson said, pouring himself another drink, “that solves the Smoker problem.”
    “Won’t matter much,” Clubs said. “You’re going to fail. I’ve spent my life trying to hide Mistings from the Lord Ruler and his obligators. He gets them all eventually anyway.”
    “Why bother helping us, then?” Dockson asked.
    “Because,” Clubs said, standing. “The Lord’s going to get me sooner or later. At least this way, I’ll be able to spit in his face as I go. Overthrowing the Final Empire . . .” He smiled. “It’s got style. Let’s go, kid. We’ve got to get the shop ready for visitors.”
    Vin watched them go, Clubs limping out the door, the boy pulling it closed behind them. Then she glanced at Kelsier. “You knew he’d come back.”
    He shrugged, standing and stretching. “I hoped. People are attracted to vision. The job I’m proposing . . . well, it just isn’t the sort of thing you walk away from—at least, not if you’re a bored old man who’s generally annoyed at life. Now, Vin, I assume that your crew owns this entire building?”
    Vin nodded. “The shop upstairs is a front.”
    “Good,” Kelsier said, checking his pocket watch, then handing it to Dockson. “Tell your friends that they can have their lair back—the mists are probably already coming out.”
    “And us?” Dockson asked.
    Kelsier smiled. “We’re going to the roof. Like I told you, I have to fetch some atium.”

    By day, Luthadel was a blackened city, scorched by soot and red sunlight. It was hard, distinct, and oppressive.
    At night, however, the mists came to blur and obscure. High noble keeps became ghostly, looming silhouettes. Streets seemed to grow more narrow in the fog, every thoroughfare becoming a lonely, dangerous alleyway. Even noblemen and thieves were apprehensive about going out at night—it took a strong heart to brave the foreboding, misty silence. The dark city at night was a place for the desperate and the foolhardy; it was a land of swirling mystery and strange creatures.
    Strange creatures like me, Kelsier thought. He stood upon the ledge that ran around the lip of the flat-roofed lair. Shadowed buildings loomed in the night around him, and the mists made everything seem to shift and move in the darkness. Weak lights peeked from the occasional window, but the tiny beads of illumination were huddled, frightened things.
    A cool breeze slipped across the rooftop, shifting the haze, brushing against Kelsier’s mist-wetted cheek like an exhaled breath. In days past—back before everything had gone wrong—he had always sought out a rooftop on the evening before a job, wishing to overlook the city. He didn’t realize he was observing his old custom this night until he glanced to the side, expecting Mare to be there next to him, as she always had been.
    Instead, he found only the empty air. Lonely. Silent. The mists had replaced her. Poorly.
    He sighed and turned. Vin and Dockson stood behind him on the rooftop. Both looked apprehensive to be out in the mists, but they dealt with their fear. One did not get far in the underworld without learning to stomach the mists.
    Kelsier had learned to do far more than “stomach” them. He had gone among them so often during the last few years that he was beginning to feel more comfortable at night, within the mists’ obscuring embrace, than he did at day.
    “Kell,” Dockson said, “do you have to stand on the ledge like